


Book 3: Of Rats and Dogs

by TheWizzard



Series: Harry Potter and the Consequences of the Trip to the Library in Primary School [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Gen, Harry loves Fantasy Books, Ravenclaw Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWizzard/pseuds/TheWizzard
Summary: "Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action." - Ian FlemingHarry's hopes for a normal year at Hogwarts are dashed when mass-murderer Sirius Black is reported to have escaped the notorious prison of Azkaban. He finally has to admit to himself that he is cursed to live in interesting times.Things get even more complicated when Harry and his friends discover piece by piece that not everything is what it seems.
Series: Harry Potter and the Consequences of the Trip to the Library in Primary School [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/887097
Comments: 14
Kudos: 79





	Book 3: Of Rats and Dogs

“ _Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.” – J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring_

* * *

_  
_

_ Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless — discuss _

  


_If you ask people for their opinion on the Witch burning in the fourteenth century, most will have a good laugh at the Muggles' expense._

_They will tell you that Muggles wouldn't recognise magic even if it hit them in the face. That even if they had managed to catch a real witch or wizard, their attempt to execute them would have been futile, since the witch or wizard in question would have simply used magic to escape._

_However, is this really true?_

_According to Agnes Shadwell, author of the book 'Of the Inept and the Cruel – A History of Witch Hunters', the number one rule for a successful witch hunter was to take away any means for performing magic from the witch or wizard, so that they couldn't escape justice._

_Wendelin the Weird might have been able to perform a Flame Freezing Charm and escape unnoticed without a wand, but how many other witches or wizards could do the same?_

_There were, of course, instances of daring rescue missions, if a captured witch or wizard was unable to escape by themselves, like in the case of Old Nanny Ogden who was rescued by no less than twenty-six of her grandchildren._

_However, did everyone have friends or family to rely on?_

_And was everyone saved in time?_

_So how pointless was the Witch burning in the fourteenth century really?_

  


_The Witch burning was an indirect consequence of the Black Death which devastated Europe from 1347 to 1351, killing nearly half of the population._

_Back then people didn't know what was causing the disease or how it spread. So when things went from bad to worse, some Muggles were quick to accuse Wizardkind of creating the plague with Dark magic, while others blamed Jews for causing it by poisoning wells._

_There also were those who believed the plague to be a punishment sent by God, and the only way to earn his forgiveness was to kill as many infidels as possible._

_By 1351, several thousand people – most of them Jews – had been killed and even though the disease subsided, persecution continued far into the second half of the century, claiming many more victims._

  


_The magical population escaped persecution for the most part due to the fact that there was already a rift between Muggles and Wizardkind._

_Previous witch hunts had left witches and wizards wary of Muggles, and while they neither lived in hiding nor tried very hard to conceal their abilities, they didn't advertise them._

_Records from that time are sparse, partly because of the lack of organisation within the magical community, partly because of the absolute mayhem at that time. They existing few describe phenomenal feats of magic and daring rescues, but cannot reliably describe the situation back then._

_Therefore, it's impossible to claim that there were no casualties among the magical population at all._

  


_We also need to consider how the witch hunts affected Muggle-borns – something which many historians tend to overlook. They were, after all, particularly at risk during that time, since they not only lived among Muggles, but also lacked control over their magic._

_Public displays of accidental magic which draw the attention of Muggles are rare but not unheard of. Why should it have been any different back then when consequences were more dire?_

_And since they had no ties with the magical community, their deaths would have for the most part gone unnoticed._

  


_In the light of all this information, can we really still call the Witch burning in the fourteenth century pointless?_

_The claim that every single captured witch or wizard escaped the stack is only based on a few accounts, depicting events worth mentioning._

_We cannot simply assume that every witch or wizard was as accomplished as Wendelin the Weird or that no one was killed on the spot instead of getting captured alive._

_And what about the Muggle-borns?_

_Did every single one evade discovery?_

_Besides, even if there really were no casualties on our side, the Witch burning still had a profound impact on our society._

_According to the magical historian Aurore Dubois, it was the beginning of the end._

  


_'Our relationship with the Muggles has never been all roses. There have always been Muggles who envied us for our gift. Who feared and hated us. Just as there have always been witches and wizards who believed themselves superior, and misused their gift to cause harm to Muggles._

_However, prior to the Witch burning of the fourteenth century, there were also times when we got along quite well. Times of goodwill and peace between our people._

_However, things only got worse after the fourteenth century._

_The fear and suspicion never lessened, and while we still interacted with Muggles, even helped them in times of need, we were a little bit more hesitant about it._

_The foundation for the complete separation of our worlds had been laid.'_

  


Harry read over his essay and nodded in satisfaction. Staying with the most celebrated magical historian of the twentieth century had its perks.

Last summer, before Harry had left Privet Drive to stay with Lisa, Aunt Petunia had taken him aside and made it unmistakably clear that he wasn't welcomed anymore and should look for alternative living arrangements for the summer holidays.

Harry had been only happy to oblige.

The first stop on his 'Best Summer Ever' Tour was Godric's Hollow, home village of Bathilda Bagshot who had grown rather lonely in recent years and greatly appreciated his company.

Harry had never known his grandparents but he imagined that staying with Aunt Bathilda was quite similar to staying with a grandmother.

Regular, subtle hints that it's time again to visit the hairdresser, a constant influx of food, especially sweets, and lots of stories about days gone by.

Aunt Bathilda was an amazing storyteller.

She knew all these little details which could never be found in books but were essential to breath life into history, and was capable to present them in such a way that the story didn't turn into an overwhelming lecture.

History could be a rather fascinating subject if it wasn't presented in the dull, monotone voice of a ghost. Maybe, he should skip 'History of Magic' altogether next year.

A loud crack announced Dobby's arrival.

Harry had invited the elf along on his tour as a thank you for warning him about the Chamber of Secrets. Besides, Dobby was as much in need of a holiday as Harry.

“Dinner is ready, Harry Potter”, said Dobby, smiling and standing straighter than ever. While still skittish at times and incapable of badmouthing the Malfoys without developing an instant urge to iron his ears, there was no doubt that his newly found freedom agreed with him.

“Thanks, Dobby. I'm on my way.”

In the beginning, a simple, honest thank-you would have reduced Dobby to tears. Now he only got misty eyes, nodded and disappeared.

_Baby steps_ , Harry reminded himself.  _Baby steps._

Harry got up, walked down the creaky stairs and went outside where Aunt Bathilda was already sitting at the garden table, surrounded by piles of books which had seen better days.

“How is your assignment coming along, Harry?”, she asked, her nose deep inside a particularly worn one.

“It's finished”, said Harry and sat down. “Thanks again for your help.”

“Don't mention it. History is my forte after all”, she chuckled. “I should warn you though, I won't be of much help with the rest of your homework, especially Potions. Haven't touched a cauldron in over a century.”

With another crack, Dobby appeared and placed two plates of soup in front of them.

“Smells delicious, Dobby”, said Harry, smiling at him. The elf beamed at the praise and left.

“You know, if you're too uncomfortable with having Dobby around, I can always send him to the Lovegoods”, offered Harry, having noticed the wary looks she kept sending Dobby.

Harry had hoped that after cleaning the house from basement to attic, taming the garden and organising her research the elf would have endeared himself to her. To no avail, it seemed.

“No, I don't think that's necessary. It's just...”, she sighted. “It's strange seeing an elf taking so much pride in being free. It's unnatural. Any other house elf would consider freedom a punishment, a fate worse than death.”

“Well, Dobby is not any elf. He's one of a kind”, he countered.

“That's one way of saying it”, she mumbled and took one spoon full of soup. “His cooking is great though.”

They ate most of soup in awkward silence before Aunt Bathilda spoke up again, “Look, Harry. I know you consider him a friend but you have to be careful. House elves are powerful magical creatures, capable of much destruction without a master to reign them in.”

“Dobby would never hurt me”, protested Harry.

_Unless he tries to save my life again._

Harry was smart enough though to keep that thought to himself.

“You wouldn't know how house elves came into the service of Wizardkind, would you?”, asked Harry, slightly changing the topic. “There's hardly anything written about them.”

“Not surprising. Most wizards consider house elves beneath their notice. They are servants, not to be seen, or heard. There are theories though”, she added after a short moment of hesitation. “One stranger than the other. Some, for example, claim that house elves were created to serve us. Like some kind of golem, kept alive by their masters' magic.”

“Convenient, isn't it? It's not really slavery since serving us keeps them alive”, mocked Harry.

Aunt Bathilda chuckled, “Magizoologists, on the other hand, have a much more sensible explanation. They have concluded, based on the similarities to Erklings and other elfish beasts, that house elves had been once wild magical creatures before they were bent to our will by powerful magic.”

“That's even worse.”

“Is it?”, challenged Aunt Bathilda. “If house elves were anything like Erklings, taming them was probably in our best interest.”

“That's ridiculous”, he scoffed. “For all we know, house elves were completely harmless before our ancestors enslaved them.”

“But the problem is that we hardly know anything about them. For all we know, they could have been vicious creatures”, she threw back.

Harry groaned in frustration, “Well played, Aunt Bathilda. Well played.”

* * *

  


Harry's summer was off to a fantastic start.

At Aunt Bathilda's insistence, he had already finished nearly half of his summer homework. According to her, he wouldn't be able to properly enjoy his summer holidays as long as the shadow of work was looming over him.

His stay with her wasn't all work though.

Harry had visited his parents' graves on the very first day and spent an entire afternoon telling them of his second year at Hogwarts. Not everything, mind you. He might have left out a couple of unnecessary details.

They also joined Lisa and Sarah on a one-day trip to Carmarthen, the birthplace of Merlin. At least, according to most historians.

Hardly anything was known about Merlin's life even though he was arguably the most famous wizard of all times, having left such an impact on the world that even the Huggermuggers – a special group of wizards and witches, founded in the wake of the Statue of Secrecy and tasked with erasing any trace of magic in Muggle records – hadn't been able to completely purge him from the Muggles' minds.

A large thicket of hearsay and rumours had grown over the centuries, concealing the truth about the wizard so effectively that most historians, including Aunt Bathilda, didn't even try to chop their way through it in search of a few scraps of truth.

However, Merlin must have been born somewhere, so why not Carmarthen.

The city had its own magical district, called 'Enchanter's Square', which was entirely dedicated to the supposedly most powerful wizard of all times.

Masses of tourists were squeezing themselves through dozens of stalls, advertising all kinds of Merlin merchandise – fake white beards, knobby hiking poles, and, oddly enough, red handkerchiefs. Pubs were selling Merlin-themed drinks and meals, puppet shows were entertaining children with his greatest adventures. There was even some sort of shrine, claiming to house three strands of Merlin's beard.

If it hadn't been for Aunt Bathilda pointing out a small museum, hidden away in the basement of a shop, they would have experienced very little actual history that day.

To Harry, it wouldn't have mattered. He wasn't here for the rich history, or the hilariously hideous T-shirts (Dobby got three). He was here because he wanted to spend time with Lisa.

Harry had missed her a lot last year, and he would be lying if he claimed that her motionless body lying in the hospital bed wasn't still haunting his dreams.

Seeing her up and about, having laughing fits while wearing a long, white beard, put a wide smile on his lips, and would do wonders for his night's sleep.

While Lisa seemed rather unaffected by last year's events, Sarah clearly wasn't. Her eyes appeared to be glued to her daughter.

It was understandable since Dumbledore had managed to mess up spectacularly last year.

In a misguided attempt to prevent the victims' parents from needlessly worrying, Dumbledore had given the order to withhold information. They had only told them that their child had an accident and wouldn't be able to return home until the end of the school year.

The lack of information had driven Sarah crazy. Even more so when none of her letters had been answered. In the end, she had learnt what exactly had happened through Harry when he had sent her a letter before Christmas. To say she had been furious would be an understatement. She was absolutely spitting mad.

So when Harry had offered to smuggle her into Hogwarts, she hadn't hesitated one single moment.

He would forever treasure the memory of Sarah ripping Dumbledore a new one.

* * *

  


_Dear Harry,_

_It has come to my attention that you didn't return to your family at the beginning of your well-earned summer holidays. While I understand that a boy of your age does feel the need to see the world for himself and seek adventure, the summer holidays should also be used to reconnect with family who, I'm certain of it, are missing you and cannot wait to hear of all the things you have experienced and learnt since you left last summer. Therefore, I urge you to return as soon as possible._

_Albus Dumbledore_

_  
_

Harry should have known that Dumbledore wouldn't be able to resist sticking his crooked nose into his business. Why the Headmaster felt the need to meddle with his life outside of school was anyone's guess.

In Harry's opinion, Dumbledore could take his well-meaning letter and stick it up his...sleeve.

Unfortunately, the old man was still the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and although Harry loathed to admit it, was owed a certain degree of respect.

So he wrote back, explaining that his aunt had asked him to spend the summer somewhere else. He promised though that he would contact her to discuss arrangements for the next summer.

Hoping that it would be enough to get Dumbledore off his back, Harry tied the letter to Binky's leg.

“Drop it off and leave”, he told her. “Don't linger! We wouldn't want Dumbledore to take you hostage to force me to comply, now, wouldn't we?”

Unable to roll her eyes, or move them in any other way, Binky resorted to a blank stare before taking flight and disappearing out of the window. Harry watched her until she was just a little dot in the golden sunset sky.

Nothing was going to stop him from enjoying this summer to the fullest. Not even a meddling headmaster.

* * *

  


The hedges were higher, the garden was wilder, and a couple more shingles were missing from the roof. Apart from that, Harry's old home hadn't changed since the last time he had been here.

Dobby was currently inside, searching the basement and the first floor – places Harry didn't dare to go – for things which had survived despite years of abandonment. Harry was really glad that he had asked the elf to accompany him.

Without any particular purpose in mind, Harry circled the house, cutting his way through the high grass and across the rubble, when suddenly a pitiful miaow drew his attention.

It was an orange tabby cat with green eyes, missing half of its right ear. The cat stared at him warily and only approached when Harry crouched down.

“Hey there, handsome”, said Harry as the cat lost all shyness and started rubbing itself against his legs. “Are you hungry?”

The cat miaowed in confirmation.

“I'm pretty sure there is a can of tuna at home. Would you like that?”

It answered by purring happily and closed its eyes in contentment when Harry began scratching it behind the ears. Harry's magic sang at the contact.

Unfortunately, Dobby chose this exact moment to appear out of thin air and frightened it off.

“Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter. Dobby didn't know he was making a new friend”, the elf apologised and handed Harry a backpack full of books, framed photos and other stuff. Ordinarily, Harry wouldn't have wasted another moment to go through the booty but the cat was still occupying his mind.

“No need to apologise, Dobby”, said Harry, staring at the hole in the hedge where the cat had disappeared through. “We'll leave some food and water in the case it comes back.”

* * *

  


Harry was on his knees in front of the sink, rummaging through the cupboard underneath for a food bowl. The encounter with the orange tabby was still on the forefront of his minds. It stubbornly refused to leave his head, just like a cat digging its claws into a particularly dear upholstery.

“What are you looking for, Harry?”, asked Aunt Bathilda, looking up from her research.

“Some kind of food bowl”, he answered. “I encountered a stray at Potter's cottage. It looked hungry.”

“Oh, that had to be Knockers. I...”, she trailed off, her eyes grew sad. “I can't believe I forgot to tell you about him.”

Harry looked up, frowning, “What about him?”

“Look, Harry”, said Aunt Bathilda hesitantly. “Knockers, he...he belonged to your family.”

“We had a cat?”, he whispered softly, not daring to hope.

Because it had been a long time since Harry had hoped that there was still an unknown, living family member out there. And while Knockers wasn't able to show up at Privet Drive and take him away from the Dursleys, he was still family. Something to be treasured.

“At first, I believed him dead, but then he showed up again. Weeks later at my doorstep, begging for food.”

Harry could kick himself.

Ever since he had reentered the wizarding world, he had been so desperate for any scrap of information on his family.

He had read books about the Potters, had combed through their old home for mementos, and had spoken and written to people who had known his parents.

He had done everything that might bring him closer to them, and yet, he had never bothered to ask if they had owned a pet.

Because, of course, they had owned one. Most wizarding families did after all.

“He's been roaming the neighbourhood ever since. Most of the time though, he's somewhere around your old home as if...”

_As if he is waiting for his family to return._

Pictures and books were all well and good but they couldn't compare to a living, breathing family member, a remnant of better days when the world had been still alright.

A family member who had been forgotten by the world and condemned to a life as stray.

Harry stamped out the spark of irritation in his chest before it could turn into a bonfire.

He shouldn't be surprised. His parents weren't worth more than two sentences in most history books. Why should anyone remember a cat?

It didn't matter anymore. Now that Harry was aware of Knocker's existence, he would make sure the cat was taken care of, starting with a whole bowl of tuna snacks.

If Knockers was anything like Mrs Norris, he would gorge himself on them.

* * *

  


_Dear Harry,_

_Let me give you a piece of advice I learnt far too late in my youth._

_Being part of a family takes effort. It takes sacrifice. However, you will realise that all your labours are rewarded tenfold. Power and ambitions pale in comparison with the love and happiness you receive in return._

_Therefore, I urge you to mend fences with your relatives._

_Families bicker. Families quarrel. But they stay families._

_While I understand that your relationship with your relatives has been tense for years, do not let the past define your future decisions and actions. Reach out to your family and offer them a chance to make amends._

_I am well aware that change in a relationship is only possible if both parties are willing, hence I have taken the liberty to visit and talk to your family, and I'm happy to inform you that they promised to make an effort. They also asked me to invite you home on their behalf for the rest of the summer._

_Please, come home, Harry._

_Albus Dumbledore_

  


Given the choice between returning to the Dursleys and hopscotching across the country with the Lovegoods, Harry naturally chose the latter and politely declined Dumbledore's request, stating that

he had already planned out the whole summer, and it would be rude to change his mind now. He also promised once again that he would contact his aunt to discuss arrangements for the next year.

Harry really hoped Dumbledore would get the hint and leave him alone.

The Lovegoods arrived in the early morning via the Floo Network. Luna appeared first, wearing a yellow dress and a straw hat. You wouldn't spare her a second glance if she walked down a Muggle street, as long as you didn't pay attention to the bunch of Dirigible plumbs adorning her hat.

Next came her father, Xenophilius Lovegood, and contrary to Luna, his red-green checkered poncho and absurdly large sombrero would turn quite a lot of heads.

Harry wouldn't have any trouble following him through a crowd though, which was a good thing since the Tenacious Tune Music Festival – their first stop – was one of the biggest magical festivals in Europe and drew people from all over the world.

Luna gave him a 'Lute of Destiny' T-shirt as an early birthday present, capable of playing the choruses of their most popular songs. Dobby got one too, adding to his ever-growing T-shirt collection and moving him to tears. Big, noisy tears.

Acts of kindness still reduced him to a weeping mess. Harry could relate. The only reason why he hadn't cried when Hagrid had given him Binky was because he had been to shocked to do so.

Eager to get on the road again, they declined a second cup of tea.

Luna wanted Harry's first music concert to be memorable, and in order to achieve this, they had to get a spot right in front of the stage. Otherwise, he wouldn't get the whole experience. This was especially true for 'Demonic Dandelions', a band famous for underlining their music with smells and flavours.

Harry couldn't wait. The next two weeks were going to be awesome.

* * *

  


Since Xeno planned to meet several unnamed sources during their two week journey across the country, they had to take precautions against people following them – changing means of transportation, laying false trails, and travelling without recognisable pattern.

From Godric's Hollow in South West England they travelled to Liverpool for the Tenacious Tune Musical Festival. Two days later they met an expert on Viking magic in York, before turning north to hunt down a grove of moving hazel trees.

On the first night of their hunt, they put up their tent in a rather peculiar place, a so-called 'Magic Well'.

Magic wells were places where magic naturally gathered in large amounts, oozing from earth, water and air. These places had been once of utmost significance to Wizardkind since they had enabled them to accomplish great feats of magic which would have been otherwise impossible.

This had changed though when the Romans had invaded Britain and introduced the wand. Using a wand had greatly simplified doing magic, causing the magic wells to dwindle in importance until advancements in spells and potions during the Middle age had made them largely redundant.

Nowadays, most witches and wizards regarded magic wells as superstition as well as a good destination for a Sunday afternoon trip.

They were wrong though. At least, concerning magic wells being mere superstition.

Harry could feel the magic flowing all around him. It was almost visible, causing a sort of heat haze in the air. Each breath was filled with magic and tingled down his throat. The earth crackled with power under his feet, and the water of the nearby stream glittered unnaturally in the light of the setting sun.

Flora and fauna were affected by the large amounts of magic as well.

Trees, far more alert than they were supposed to be, watched and judged their every move with non-existing eyes. Among their roots, a tribe of ants put up a miniature Stone henge, while brightly coloured spiders weaved their webs between their branches. Once the sun had set, their webs glowed in various neon colours, causing the forest to appear like a restless city.

Sleeping would be a bit of a hassle that night.

* * *

  


It took them three days to finally corner the grove just outside of Glasgow.

Harry never caught them moving. As long as his gaze was upon them, they appeared to be nine perfectly ordinary hazel trees. However, as soon as his back was turned, they moved with a speed he wouldn't have thought possible.

Harry and the Lovegoods travelled further north to Aberdeen, the first stop on their 'Wendelin the Weird Tour'. They planned to visit all thirty-four places where the eccentric witch had been burnt at the stake. First in alphabetical order – from Aberdeen to Melcombe, the rest in chronological order.

They were half-way through their list when Harry had his first nightmare since they had left Godric's Hollow.

He woke up trembling and gasping for air. The image of a maw full of razor-sharp teeth closing in on him was still fresh in his mind.

Too agitated to fall asleep again, Harry sneaked out of the tent and stepped into the light of a still burning campfire. He welcomed the fresh night air, and the light and warmth of the fire. Surely, they would be able to clear his head from that awful image.

“Nightmare, Harry?”

His heart gave a leap at hearing the voice but he calmed down quickly when he realised it was just Luna's father, sitting in front of the blazing fire. Xeno had recently taken up pyromancy as a mean to find inspiration for future Quibbler articles and practised the art when Luna and Harry had gone to sleep.

“Yes”, Harry answered curtly, not in the mood to discuss his deepest fears and worries.

Unfortunately, Xeno either didn't pick up on that or decided to continue probing regardless. It was probably the latter. Luna had to have gotten her brutal bluntness from somewhere.

“Do you want to talk about it?”, he asked in his usual airy voice. “Recent studies showed that sharing your burden results in a thirty-four per cent decrease in weight.”

Harry gave a chuckle and shook his head, “I don't think so.”

“Understandable”, Xeno said, his eyes transfixed on the flames. “Dreams – good and bad – are a very personal and intimate matter and are not discussed with people you hardly know. However, don't keep them inside your head. You'll never get rid of them if you do.”

Xeno bent down, picked up a dry branch and fed it to the flames.

“You don't have to speak about them. Write them down on a piece of parchment instead. Then feed them to the flames, and let them burn to ash.”

The advice was sound. Harry knew never to underestimate the power of symbols. However, at the very moment, Harry had neither the strength nor the patience to go looking for parchment and ink, and put his nightmare into words. So he decided on the spur of the moment to take a leap of faith.

To get it over with.

“Your advice sounds great, but...I think I changed my mind. I would like to talk about, if that's alright?”

Xeno continued to look into the flames but gave a slight nod. He was listening.

“I was in the Chamber of Secrets again”, Harry told him. “But this time Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, didn't show up and save me.This time I was all alone, and I died.”

“And why do you think you're having these nightmares?”, Xeno asked after a moment of reflection.

“Because I almost died in the Chamber”, whispered Harry, almost too afraid to say it aloud.

“And there lies the problem, Harry”, Xeno said and for the first time since their conversation had started, he turned towards Harry. “You're focused on the fact that you almost died. Instead, you should be focused on the fact that you're alive. You're sitting here, feeling the heat of the fire and breathing the night air. You didn't die in the Chamber. You're alive. Remember, Harry. Your focus determines your reality.”

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration, “It's not that easy.”

“Of course not. Nothing worth having comes easy. Be it a Crumple-Horned Snorkack or a good night's sleep. If you want to succeed, you have to put up some effort.”

Harry sighted, “It's not just the Chamber business that's been on my mind lately. I encountered Tom Riddle three times in the past, and I barely survived each encounter. I can't help but wonder if the next time we inevitably meet, my luck will have finally run out.”

“Once again, Harry, you focus on the wrong thing. You survived. Simple as that. You survived, and he failed. Focus on that.”

Harry continued to argue, “But he's still out there, waiting for his chance to return. And when he finally succeeds, I'll be among the first on his 'To Kill'-list.”

“It's always wise to be mindful of the future, but it should never be at the expense of the moment”,

warned Xeno. “Answer me honestly, Harry. Do you really want to spend each day of your life in fear? Constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for the day Riddle finally returns?” Xeno paused. “Do you really want to give Riddle the satisfaction of wasting your life in such a way?”, he added slyly.

Xeno couldn't have put it any better way, because in an instant, Harry's hackles rose.

Riddle had already taken so much from him, he wouldn't get anything else.

“You're right, Xeno”, said Harry, grinning wickedly. “I'm going to live life to the fullest, and I will do it partially out of spite.”

“Sounds good to me. Living well is, after all, the best revenge”, chuckled Xeno.

Harry felt a little bit lighter after that. Trust a Lovegood to give advice that actually helped.

He joined Xeno in watching the flames dance, looking for signs, until a burning question flared up inside his head.

“By the way, how is your investigation into Riddle coming along?”, asked Harry.

The last update on the life of Tom Marvolo Riddle had been months ago. Xeno had tracked down and interviewed several people who had known Riddle during his time in Hogwarts. Unfortunately, they either had refused to talk or had only known him as a charming, slightly intimidating Slytherin genius.

Xeno sighted, “Not well, I'm afraid. Contrary to his You-Know-Who persona, Tom Riddle lived a rather unassuming life until he disappeared in 1956, never to be seen again. Then again, the unassuming nature of his life is also the most intriguing part.”

“How so?”

“By all accounts, Tom Riddle was a brilliant student, and unsurprisingly, several positions within the Ministry were offered to him once he had graduated. But he declined them all. Instead, he chose to work for 'Borgin and Burkes'. An antique shop with questionable reputation, located in Knockturn Alley”, he added upon Harry's questioning look.

“An antique shop?”, said Harry in disbelief. He couldn't fathom why proud, ambitious Riddle would lower himself to work in such a shop. It boggled his mind. “Why would Riddle work there?”

“Well, it's safe to assume that he didn't work there because of the high wages or the promotion prospects.”

Harry grinned and turned towards the flames, brooding. The flash of inspiration didn't tarry.

“He was looking for something, wasn't he?”

“My thought exactly, Harry”, said Xeno. “If rumours are true, 'Borgin and Burkes' sells highly dangerous and illegal items under the counter. Needless to say, this kind of service isn't cheap, and Riddle who had grown up in an orphanage and had just recently graduated couldn't possibly have been able to afford it. But as an employee, he would have gained access to all their resources free of charge.”

“Do you have an idea what he was looking for?”

“No, that's impossible to say. There are thousands upon thousands of magical objects out there. Some have been lost to the ages, others were supposedly destroyed because their power was too great, while others are guarded by secret organisations which were founded for that exact purpose. And let's not forget those which are currently in the possession of governments for 'study purposes'”, he said, making air quotes. “But whatever Riddle was looking for, he must found it in the end, because one day he suddenly disappeared. Didn't even bother to quit properly. Just left without a word.”

* * *

  


Harry had disliked his fame right from the beginning.

The reason for that was rather simple. Nobody liked getting mobbed by dozens of strangers without having any idea what was going on.

He despised the whispers and the stares, and the people's weird fascination with his scar gave him the creeps. To his surprise, Harry found himself rather grateful that Riddle had aimed at his head because he had the feeling that the magical population of Great Britain would have still tried to get a look at his scar even if it had been somewhere else. Somewhere more private.

The public's expectations of him was another matter.

Harry couldn't care less what total strangers thought about him but it was still disturbing that some

people had a complete, preconceived idea on what kind of person he should be.

If Harry had ground his teeth in frustration every time he had heard that he should be in Gryffindor, he would have ground them to dust by now.

The absolute worst thing about his fame, however, was that part of it was undeserved. While he couldn't deny that he was the only known survivor of the Killing Curse, Tom Riddle hadn't been defeated by him. He had been a toddler at that time, for Merlin's sake.

It had been his mother who had put a stop to his reign of terror. She had sacrificed herself to protect Harry, and it had been that sacrifice that had not only shielded him from the curse but had also caused Riddle's temporary downfall.

No, Harry didn't like his fame one bit.

So who could blame him for having seized the first opportunity to get rid of it by revealing the truth in the 'Quibbler'?

Unfortunately, the article had hardly made a difference. It seemed that the majority of the wizarding world was simply too set in their ways or too prejudiced to accept the truth – if they had bothered to read the article at all.

At that point, Harry had given up. Begrudgingly, he had accepted that his fame and everything that came with it was here to stay, and he would have to learn to live with it.

Yet a tiny part of him still clung to the hope that one day he would be allowed to sink into obscurity. A tiny part that was about to be squashed into non-existence.

As it turned out, some information about the Chamber business had leaked despite the Ministry's best attempts to keep the lid on it, and found its way to an ambitious, ruthless reporter called Rita Skeeter, author of that days's lead story in the Daily Prophet, titled 'Harry Potter – Saviour once again, or Rising Dark Lord?'.

  


_Months ago, the Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge shocked the wizarding world when_

_he confirmed the rumours about several strange attacks on the Muggle-born population of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent._

_In an official statement, he revealed that the attacks were committed by none other than the monster of Salazar Slytherin which had managed to escape the legendary Chamber of Secrets on the night of last years's Halloween._

“ _We had everything under control,” claimed Minister Fudge.“Besides, it's over. There's no cause to worry now.”_

_Public opinion is still disturbed at the Minister's nonchalance concerning the situation as well as_

_the decision to cover up the attacks._

“ _Two of my children are currently attending Hogwarts. If a dangerous creature is loose in the school, I have the right to know that. Merlin knows, what could've happened to my children,”, says Elspeth Hickinbottom, mother of four._

_Unfortunately, it seems like the Ministry isn't done keeping secrets from the public._

_Recently discovered evidence reveals that Slytherin's monster was much more dangerous than a colony of Red Caps or a rogue Jarvey._

_Much to this journalist's horror, Slytherin's monster turned out to be a basilisk, the king of all serpents. Some of our readers may not know, but a basilisk is a XXXXX-rated creature which is able to kill with a single glance and whose venom is one of the most destructive substances in the world. The fact that nobody died while it was on the loose is nothing short of a miracle._

_Unfortunately, both Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts' eccentric Headmaster, as well as his teaching staff were unavailable to answer this journalist's question of how a sixty feet long snake roaming the halls could have escaped their notice._

  


_And as if this were not enough, neither Hogwarts' teachers nor the reluctantly called in Aurors were responsible for putting an end to that creature. It was, in fact, Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived._

_Following the attack on his Muggle-born friend Lisa Turbin in late November, Harry Potter spent every free hour of his time inside the library, searching for every scrap of information on the Chamber of Secrets and its monster._

_His search, however, soon turned into an obsession that quickly took its toil on his fragile state of mind, leading to an unprovoked attack on fellow pupil Draco Malfoy._

“ _It was horrible,” says Pansy Parkinson, a friend of the victim. “Potter just lunged at Draco, like some common Muggle. He even broke his nose. Not even Madam Pomfrey could heal it.”_

_Known for his questionable choices, Dumbledore decided to put mercy before justice and allowed Potter to stay even though such an attack would usually warrant immediate expulsion. However, in this case, Dumbledore's leniency should prove to be a stroke of luck because months later, at the end of the Easter break, Harry Potter managed to do something which many had attempted in the past but had never succeeded with. He found the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets._

_Not wasting another moment, Potter took it upon himself to save the school and descended into the Chamber where he faced off the basilisk and emerged victorious._

_Or so they claim._

  


_However, due to the lack of transparency within the Ministry, more and more people begin to doubt the official version of events, especially considering the most worrying fact about the Boy-Who-Lived – a secret which has been hidden from the wizarding public until now._

_The Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal that Harry Potter is a Parselmouth._

_Parseltongue, or Snake-language, has been long associated with the Dark Arts and is therefore often seen as the mark of a Dark wizard._

“ _Snakes are used for the darkest and foulest of magic. Therefore, it shouldn't be surprising that Parselmouths feel naturally drawn to the Dark Arts,” explains a member of the Dark Force Defence League, who prefers to remain anonymous. “The ability is also exceedingly rare, which means that Potter is very likely the only Parselmouth in Hogwarts at this time.”_

  


_Until the Ministry decides to release a more detailed description of events, it remains to be seen whether Harry Potter used his unnatural talent to save the school, or whether he was more involved in the attacks than he wants to admit._

_Regardless, if I were Dumbledore, I would keep a close eye on Potter. After all, we wouldn't want the boy to go down a similar path as Salazar Slytherin or You-Know-Who himself, two of the most notable Parselmouths in history._

  


Horrorstruck, Harry stared at the paper. As if being famous wasn't already bad enough, being infamous would be a lot worse.

Incapable of putting the hotchpotch of thoughts brimming through his head into words, Harry pushed the paper away from him, banged his head against the table and hid his face behind his arms.

“Don't pay Skeeter any heed, Harry. She's the worst of the worst. A leech, thriving on the misfortune of others. She's well known for twisting words and taking things out of context”, said Xeno with unusual ferocity. “It's people like her who give us journalists a bad name.”

“People will still believe her”, murmured Harry.

“Unfortunately, they will, but you shouldn't worry. It'll blow over soon. Most people have a worse attention span than a Blibbering Humdinger.”

“Daddy is right, Harry”, said Luna. “And look, Skeeter also dedicated an entire article to the many failings of Albus Dumbledore. I'm sure reading it will put you in a better mood.”


End file.
